


led by your (his) beating heart (drum)

by KiaAnniel



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Markiplier (YouTube RPF), Youtube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Main Questline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaAnniel/pseuds/KiaAnniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You hadn't intended to get caught up with the Dragonborn of legend, you hadn't even meant to be in Helgen past midmorning, but Fate is a cruel mistress.</p><p>Though you have made a great friend, and you're rolling in gold, and he's also pretty cute. If useless in combat.</p><p>Really, Akatosh, a bard is the Dragonborn? You could have done better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. way beyond what's normal

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for being interested in my little fic! This is my first time writing RPF, and my first time writing something involving the reader.  
> If I've made any mistakes, please please tell me!!
> 
> I'm planning to go through the main questline, the civil war, the Companions, both story DLCs, many side quests and probably other questlines. Likely not the Dark Brotherhood, strong maybe on the Thieve's Guild, but otherwise I'm not sure! Feel free to ask me to cover your favorite quest, and I'll add it in once I play through it myself!
> 
> I play on a modded game, so any differences from canon that aren't entirely necessary for the storyline of this fic to make sense are likely from a mod, since I am playing through the game as I write to make sure I get everything right.

The sound of a bowl and tankard being set on the table brought your attention away from the armor strap you had been checking for wear, and the innkeeper smiled at you. “Always good to see a warrior caring for their gear. Here’s your breakfast, and if you need anything else, just yell. If you need any thread or oil for your armor, I can provide those for cheaper than the blacksmith.” She nodded and went back behind the bar, and you turned to your meal. Wine, watered down a bit and heated over the fire just like you had been ordering for the past week you had been staying here.

But instead of the usual porridge, or leftover stew, the bowl contained a young game bird, roasted whole. A brown sauce had been poured over it, and you could see herbs in the sauce.

“That’s for being a wonderful customer. I know you’re planning to leave today, so I wanted to give you a good meal before you head out.” The innkeeper smiled at you again when you turned around, poking the piles of coin she was counting and putting into various purses. Quite a bit of it was yours, since you had paid well to have the largest room for the entire week, along with as much wine and mead you could drink.

“Ah- thank you. You didn’t have to, but thank you.” The door to the cellar closed behind the innkeeper as she went down, presumably to store the coin in the safe. The only other patron was the town drunk, who was passed out where he had sat last night. He’d be woken soon enough, when the guards and soldiers on night watch came off duty and wanted a bite to eat.

For the next hour or two, you ate the game bird (which was absolutely delicious, and made you miss home) and checked the rest of your gear. Only your bow needed any attention- a new string, and you had a spare one so that was easily taken care of.

Before you went to sleep the night before you had packed everything but your linen shirt and breeches and your weapons and armor, so you were ready to leave, but in the back of your mind there was an itch to stay in Helgen until noon.

And well. Your instincts had never failed you before now. There had been whispers for a few days of an important operation the Imperial Legion was carrying out, that would end in Helgen. Perhaps that would happen today, and give you something to watch.

The sun was already halfway to it’s highest point when you made your way out of the inn with your backpack slung over one shoulder, armor on and weapons in their correct places. It seemed like the Imperials were doing something, and you settled down on a bench in the sun to watch. The General himself showed up, speaking to a man who was holding a headsman’s axe before riding back towards one of the gates, where figures in golden armor and gilded black robes were waiting- Thalmor.

Though you didn’t really have any loyalty to the Empire, you still disliked the Thalmor. Many of their practices were abhorrent, and they often didn’t care if their victim was guilty of whatever crimes they were accused of; personally you thought that the Thalmor recruited only those with a taste for torture and few morals.

Soldiers scrambled about the village, getting things set up for an execution. Perhaps a den of deserters had been found, or Stormcloak spies. Though you had no problem killing those that attacked you, watching an execution- even the idea of watching one- turned your stomach.

_I’ll leave before the axe swings. Just stay long enough to see who this is for, and then go._ With that promise to yourself, you undid the tie holding your hair away from your face and started combing your fingers through it. There were spots of dampness left from when you cleaned up before getting dressed at dawn, and hopefully the sun would dry them out before you had to leave.

The sound of one of the village gates opening thundered through a sudden silence brought on by the sounds of carriages and horses approaching, and then a shout from a soldier. The entire town watched as a horse and rider, and then a carriage full of people came through the gate.

People in blue. _Stormcloaks_. Much of the town went inside as soon as the blue uniforms were visible, not wanting to get involved. The last carriage that came through had two men in ragged tunics and trousers mixed in with a man in normal Stormcloak armor, and another man in what seemed like fine clothes, blue and black.

One of the men in ragged clothing seemed to be dazed, looking around without registering what he was looking at. The other was clearly worried about his fate, and as the carriage rolled past you fervent prayers were spilling from his lips. But your eyes weren’t on his dirty face. The man in fine clothes had caught your eye, and met your gaze over his gag with an imperious air.

A shiver went down your spine. You hadn’t ever seen his face for yourself, but you’d heard many descriptions of this man. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and the leader of the rebellion. He was handsome for a man of his age, yes, but the rumours of his mistreatment of those who weren’t Nords soured any attraction you may have felt towards him. And the rebellion he was so invested in keeping going had made life harder for nearly everyone in Skyrim.

Though it was good that he would be stopped, some small part of you was sad that his potential was to be wasted. He was clearly a charismatic man, and could have made a great Jarl if he wasn’t so hungry for war, or quite so racist.

Another fleeting thought crossed your mind. The dazed man was a handsome sort, and seemed to be kind. Perhaps he wouldn’t be killed with the rest and you could speak to him. Though it was also likely that he was with the Stormcloaks, and his armor had just been so ruined that the Imperials had shoved him into the nearest clothes before loading him onto the cart.

All the carriages stopped, the prisoners being brought off and lined up to be checked against a list before moving to stand before the headman’s block. It went smoothly, until the man who had been praying was called forward. Foolishly, he tried to proclaim his innocence, and then bolted for the gates. An Imperial Captain’s shout of ‘ _Archers!_ ’ brought him down with a single arrow, and she mocked the prisoners before motioning for things to continue.

The last to be called up was the dazed man. The soldier checking the list couldn’t find his name on it. Though he tried to convince the Captain to let the man go, she was in a hurry to get the executions on with. The list-checker seemed very apologetic, but the Legion was a well-oiled machine, and things must go on.

The General stepped towards Ulfric once all the prisoners were gathered, making some pretty speech at the other man. Ulfric snarled behind his gag, brows knitting together in frustration. Off in the distance, a rumbling roar sounded, and though all looked around and at the sky, nothing seemed amiss. Perhaps a couple bears were fighting, and the sound just echoed off the mountains in a weird way.

A Priestess of Arkay was told to give the prisoners their rights, and you sent a thought to Arkay yourself for them, but she was quickly interrupted by a Stormcloak who was overly eager to die. As he was being pushed down to kneel over the block, you realised that you had stayed longer than you intended, and stood quickly. The headsman raising his axe prompted you to turn your head away, though the sound that accompanied the axe’s fall still made your gut roil.

When you risked a glance back over at the block, the dazed man (and how he was still confused and out of it was beyond you) was laid over the block, kneeling on the Stormcloak’s corpse. Another roar, this one closer, and you fingered an arrow in the quiver on your back nervously. Nobody else seemed to worry, focused on the impending death of this random man.

For all you wish you could, you can’t take your eyes off the man kneeling there, now seeming to be grasping the situation, though he only stared up at the headsman. Yet another roar, this one louder and more angry sounding than the others echoed around Helgen, and the headsman began raising his axe.

And a massive black shape winged down into the town, its passage rattling your very bones and then the entire town as it landed on the tower behind the block. The headsman stumbled, and the beast opened its great maw and released some sort of energy over the crowd of Imperials and Stormcloaks.

  
_What in oblivion was happening?_


	2. don't walk into danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this chapter! I totally meant to have it written and up in only a few days, but life and other projects got in the way. (Throwing yourself into making a roleplay site to distract yourself from a breakup doesn’t actually work that well, by the way.)  
> I’m incredibly flattered people are reading this, and leaving such lovely comments. Thank you so much to all of you! <3

Chaos erupted, made worse by the meteors falling from the sky after another roar from the beast. Soldiers were yelling about it being a dragon, but they were all dead and gone, had been for ages, right?

“This way! Into the tower, civilian!” The Stormcloak man who was in the cart with Ulfric and Dazed Man was motioning for you to run into the tower next to the inn, helping Dazed Man to run there. For a moment, you considered drawing your bow to help fight the beast, but watching a mage’s fireball just disappear as it hit the black scales of the thing’s chest made up your mind, and you ran into the tower.

And oh, there was Ulfric. You busied yourself checking your gear and giving one of the injured Stormcloaks on the ground a small healing potion as Ulfric spoke to the Stormcloak who had helped Dazed Man in. You learned his name, Ralof. He asked if ‘the legends are true’ and Ulfric looked him dead in the eye as he answered.

“Legends don’t burn down villages.”

The rumbling of the tower as said legend flew past the tower prompted everyone to move, Ulfric nodding at you before turning to another of his soldiers, and Ralof urging you and Dazed Man up the stairs. You didn’t make it more than a handful of steps up when the wall at a small landing caved in, and the dragon’s pitch-black head moved in, spewing a stream of impossibly hot fire- and Dazed Man, who was closest to the flames, hardly reacted.

Surely he felt the same heat, hotter than any magefire? But he only closed his eyes against the brightness, looking for all the world as if he was sitting in front of a campfire.

The dragon studied Dazed Man for a moment, its gaze moving to you for a moment before it flew off to terrorise the Legion soldiers again. Ralof told the two of you to jump through the hole, and through the roof of the building next door, and Dazed Man began clambering over the rubble to do so, but you grabbed the back of his ragged tunic and turned to glare at Ralof.

“Are you crazy? We could break a leg, and there’s no telling if the fire has weakened the upper floor! We could end up with a ton of smoldering wood on top of us, and a dragon still flying around setting more fires!” Ralof seemed amused at your yelling, and patted you on the shoulder.

“It’s fine, girl, don’t worry. We Nords build things to last, a bit of fire won’t weaken the structure! Now go on, follow that man. He’ll keep you safe.” With a shove at your shoulder, Ralof turned to go back down the stairs.

“Sure, the man in prison rags without any weapons will protect me, the one wearing armor and carrying weapons. I guess the Stormcloaks are sexist as well as racist, should have known.” Dazed Man looked at you with genuine amusement, smiling broadly.

“Would you like to lead the way, O Great Protector?” He made a sweeping bow, balanced on the rubble, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Something about him, his presence, made things seem brighter and less doomsday.

“First, you need those ties on your wrist off so you can do this well. Come here.” He stepped towards you, holding out his arms, and though a spark of something flicked through your hands when you touched him, you ignored it and cut the ropes with your dagger. Both of you stepped back, him rubbing his wrists and you wiping bits of rope off the blade before sheathing it again.

“I’m the heavier one with all my gear, so it would make sense for me to go first, test things with my weight. I’ll motion when it’s safe for you to jump.” After he nodded, you moved into the opening and stared down at the floor you were jumping to. It wasn’t that far, all things considered, but it was far enough to make anxiety twist in your gut.

Well, no sense waiting too long. You jumped, feeling heat from the dragon’s fire rising from the fallen stones of the tower, and landed. You didn’t break or twist anything, but the impact still stung your joints. A quick glance around you showed nothing of use, just a few bottles of mead on a dresser and a bed broken by fallen beams.

The only way down from here was another fall to the lower story, which was less than desireable but would do. When you turned around to motion for Dazed Man to follow, he was already on the edge of the opening, leaning forward and- worried? He looked worried, which was odd. But all the same, you waved your arm and moved back slightly to give him enough room.

He jumped, landing much less gracefully than you. What had this man done before he was captured? Surely he wasn’t a soldier, that landing was nowhere near anything that would be taught in basic training. “Where to now?”

His voice was ragged, his shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Definitely not a soldier, then.

“There’s a hole in the floor here. We need to drop through it, and then there’s a way out from there. You can go first.” The man nodded and walked to the hole, hesitating at the edge before dropping. You followed quickly, though he was already out of the building and with the list-checker. A young boy and another man who was injured, sitting in the road were there as well, and all of you flinched when the dragon flew overhead again

The dragon landed not far away from the other group, but the soldier ushered the boy towards another man in the shade of a building and tried to get the injured man, but the dragon roared fire again and burned the injured man.

The boy didn’t cry out, just stood next to the other men and then moved to stand next to you when you came up. He didn’t touch you, but you knew he was taking some sort of comfort from you. “Civilian. If you and your friend wish to live, follow me. Gunnar, get the boy to safety.” The soldier gave out orders with ease, and though his assumption that you would follow him itched you did so anyway, handing Dazed Man your waterskin after you had taken a drink.

He smiled at you in gratitude, taking a deep drink and handing it back. The three of you went into an alley between a house and a wall, shrinking back against the wall when the black beast landed on it, the ends of his wings hanging down to either side of your group as it set ablaze to another building before taking off.

A moment of waiting, and then the soldier took off again, shouting over his shoulder for you to follow. He lead you up stairs between two buildings, and then through a burned and broken building to the open paths between the gates and the keep. The General was there, along with several soldiers and mages, all shooting fireballs or arrows at the dragon.

Dazed Man seemed willing to watch the fight, and you stayed with him for a moment as your soldier friend ran off towards the keep. With a curse, you pulled Dazed Man with you after the soldier.

And there was that Stormcloak soldier, arguing with the Imperial soldier. Both ran for different entrances to the keep and called for you and Dazed man to follow. Well, there was no question of who you would be going with here. You towed Dazed Man over to the Imperial and into the keep after him.

_Gods all protect us. A dragon, of all things. I wonder what’s next?_

 


	3. shake me to the ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the absolute worst at updating regularly, I’m so sorry!! Life’s just been a bit hectic and I haven’t been in a good frame of mind to write for ages.
> 
> Bumped up the rating for violence. Eventually, maybe, we'll hit explicit. >:D
> 
> Some mentions of tortue in this one, as a warning! Just threats, mainly- nothing is explicitly stated, though there is the first explicit death/kill! If you want to skip either of these, read up to the first bit of dialogue, then skip to “Dazed Man and Hadvar were watching you” and you should be good!
> 
> The joke about Mark's name is literally the first thing I wrote for this fic, like a month before I posted the first chapter. I'm still proud of it.

 

Much of the keep was a blur, fighting off Stormcloaks while keeping Dazed Man safe and moving, gathering extra supplies as you went. The only moments that you could remember later were those in the torture chamber, where you had found the torturer and his assistant tangling with yet another group of Stormcloaks. You and the soldier quickly dispatched the rebels with the help of the magic thrown by the torturer, though he stopped you from finishing off one that had only been knocked unconscious.

“These rebels caused me to kill my last friend-” he callously motioned to the dead mage in one of the cages, “so it’s only fair they provide me with a new one, eh?” Dazed Man blinked at the older man, then pulled a face and coughed into his arm as he turned away to look down a corridor leading deeper into the keep.

It took you another moment to realise what the torturer meant, during which he picked up some small device and turned screws on it, eyeing the unconscious woman’s hands with no small amount of dark glee.

“No. You will not keep a prisoner, not without orders.” As you spoke, the torturer spluttered, turning to your soldier friend with a perturbed squawk.

“Hadvar! Tell this- this _chit_ that I am not to be ordered about by a civilian! _She_ must be a Stormcloak sympathiser! Maybe she can take this rebel’s place!” He seemed to think Hadvar would go along with it.

“She’s saved my life, and the life of that man, multiple times. She has been spitting curses at the Stormcloaks the entire time. You can go without any _friends_ for a while. Keep any more rebels from following us, and wait until the dragon has been killed, or flown away before leaving. Those are your orders.” Hadvar was firm, and he began turning to speak to you and Dazed Man, then stopped when the torturer growled and lunged at the unconscious woman.

He had grabbed her hand, and was trying to fit his small device over her hands, when you wrapped an arm around his neck and hauled him back, your dagger to his neck.

“You are the lowest sort of person. No stomach for real battle, but a hunger for blood and pain all the same. I hope you meet your match in the realm of whatever gods-curst Daedra that claims you.” And with that, you flipped your dagger around to his spine, using it as leverage to break his neck for a mostly blood-free kill.

Dazed Man and Hadvar were watching you warily, and you shrugged before turning to glare at the assistant, who was cowering behind a counter in the barred-off section of the room. He shook his head and sat heavily in a chair, shaking more than a rug when it was being beaten.

Hadvar approached you slowly, turned to one side and face turned to your left- a posture you often used to approach scared or dangerous animals or people. It bit, that he was afraid of you.

“What is your name?” The soldier addressed you, his voice gentle. Perhaps he was afraid of sparking your anger like the torturer had.

“Y/N,” You gave your first name- though it may not have been the one you were born to, it was the one you were most comfortable giving out. “Most people call me the Wolfslayer, or the Wolf, and I’d appreciate if you did the same. If you wish to use my name, feel free, Hadvar.”

“And you, Imperial. What is your name?” Hadvar turned his attention to Dazed Man, who now seemed to be sick, or in shock.

“Marktheplayer.” This man was bent over, hands on his knees as he panted; he didn’t seem to realise how fast he was breathing and speaking, and when you noticed that you went to his side.

“Markiplier? That’s an odd name.” The soldier was clearly holding in laughter, and though you thought it funny as well you glared at him before wetting a handkerchief you pulled from a pocket in your armor with your waterskin and laid it across the back of ‘Markiplier’s’ neck.

The cool dampness seemed to bring his attention back to the real world. “No, no I’m Mark the Player- a bard from Cyrodiil.” He brought his breathing back under control, and straightened up, shuffling away from you slightly. “Just a bard. Never swung a sword or shot a bow, at least not since I was a young boy and playing.”

“Well, Mark, do you think you could help carry some supplies out of here? And keep an eye out behind us if we have to do any more fighting?” At Mark’s nod, Hadvar picked up a knapsack sitting on a stool, rifling through it before shoving it at Mark and heading down the corridor Mark had been looking down earlier.

Mark looked to you with a sheepish smile, slipping the straps of the bag over his shoulders and grabbing a torch from the wall. “Lead the way, Y/N.”

The rest of the keep was again a blur, the next interesting moment a short fight with a bear, and then only interesting because Mark had to stumble away when you began skinning the beast. It would get cold at night, and you could make a nice cloak with this pelt and a wolf pelt or two if you found the appropriate equipment somewhere. And this bard would need it.

The sun was blindingly bright as the three of you stepped out of the cave at the end of the keep at last, The lovely view and warmth of the sun lasted only a moment before the Oblivion-dark form of the dragon swept just over your heads, and flew off into the distance with an annoyed-sounding roar.

You and the two men crouched behind a rock, in the shade of a bush for several minutes more until it seemed sure that the beast was not coming back.

“I’m going to continue on to Riverwood, my uncle Alvor is the smith there. He’ll help me out, and you two as well if you come along after I’ve spoken to him. Just follow this road and the signs to get there. Good luck, and may the gods keep you well!”

“Good luck to you as well, Hadvar. Thank you.” Mark waved him off, then slowly turned around, taking in the view. “Wow. I knew Skyrim was a pretty place, but I didn’t think it would beat my home.. I was wrong.”

“Aye, this land is beautiful. Though this isn’t the prettiest of the holds. The Rift is a lot warmer and brighter, and the Reach is more interesting and varied. Though both tend to be more dangerous, between bears and the Forsworn.” Mark listened to you quietly, expression that of quiet seriousness and consideration.

“Y/N, will you allow me to travel with you? I know I might slow you down, but I can cook, and carry a bit of weight in a pack, and I know a fair bit of alchemy. And you can clearly take care of yourself! And… perhaps you could teach me a bit of fighting? I picked up a sword from one of the Stormcloaks..” He looked so very much like a puppy begging for scraps, hope and trust shining from his face, head tilted slightly to one side.

“.. Aye. At least until we get to a proper city, not a little village like Riverwood. And we can get you some armor in Riverwood, perhaps a bigger pack as well.” You began walking down the path, shrugging your pack more comfortably onto your shoulders. After a handful of paces, the sounds of Mark scrambling to catch up made you laugh.

_ I hope this isn’t a mistake.. He’s too cute to have die on me. _


End file.
